The Beginning
by aliciaofwonderland
Summary: Lady Gruoch confronts her fears over her arranged marriage to Macbeth. Most of all she fears the wedding night. She has lived a sheltered life, and has no idea what will happen to her.
1. Chapter 1

Gruoch was 17 years old when her father arranged her marriage to Macbeth. She was only peripherally aware of the man destined to be her husband. He had been present at her father's home along with other Scottish noblemen that were being considered for her, and made little impression on her. Macbeth was more than 20 years her senior, with dark eyes, dark hair, and a beard that was just beginning to show some grey. He was quiet, honourable, and Gruoch loathed this man already for what he would force her to become. She had no desire to be a wife and mother, spending the long years of her life knitting by a roaring fire while men decided her life for her. The week before her wedding, she tried to run.

It was a futile attempt, but after sending guards into the forest to find her, her father decided it would be best to move her to Macbeth's castle in Moray so that she would be trapped by the unfamiliar landscape. So it came to pass that Gruoch found herself dressed in a fine, garnet coloured gown, awaiting her fate. In less than an hour, Macbeth, a man old enough to be her father, would claim her as his property. She would spend her life subjugated to the will of this man, bearing his children, keeping his house, and entertaining his guests. She would cease to be witty and daring Gruoch, and would be known forever after as Macbeth's lady.

Several women attended her in the high tower of the castle where she was being kept until the ceremony. There were two familiar faces in the gaggle of women. One was Flora, who had been her serving woman, and the other was Catriona, her cousin. Catriona was a short girl with silky blonde hair and a wide, innocent face. They had been born only weeks apart, but Catriona was already married to Macduff, the thane of Fife. Their wedding had taken place over a year ago, and Catriona was now beginning to swell with their first child. Gruoch had not seen her since the wedding, and the woman she encountered now was quieter and gentler than the girl she had grown up with, as though the easy joy of childhood had melted out of her. Other than the elderly Flora, Catriona was the only one Gruoch could trust here with important questions. Gruoch grabbed her cousin by the arm and pulled her over to an alcove with a bench and a window while the rest of the women nattered excitedly. Catriona gave a small laugh of surprise, but allowed her cousin to guide her to the bench. With a serious expression, Gruoch tried to ask about how to cope with married life, the wedding, and the wedding night. All that she could stutter out was "will it hurt?" Which made Catriona laugh again.

She became sombre when she saw the fear on Gruoch's face, and replied, "there is some pain to be found in the marriage bed, I suppose. My husband is a large man, in many ways." At this she smiled again, and Gruoch was puzzled. The thane of Fife was quite tall, and certainly fond of ale and meat, but that didn't seem to warrant amusement. "Many ways?" she asked aloud.

Catriona grabbed her hand, and asked, "Gruoch, do you know what takes place between a man and his wife in their bed?" Gruoch scowled and shook her head. She had only heard the most vague references to the act from older women, but she knew that it created heirs. Her cousin seemed to consider her words carefully.

"A man has a sword between his legs. Oh don't look at me like that! It's not really a sword. It's smaller, like a dagger. A woman takes it into her body, and…"

With that, Catriona was cut off by the sound of trumpets. King Duncan had arrived at the castle as a special blessing on the marriage of one of his most trusted kinsmen. Gruoch was pounced on by the attending women, and hurried out of the room. She was led down the worn stone steps of the tower, more terrified than she was when she entered. _A man has a sword between his legs? And it goes in a woman's body?_ She remembered Catriona's wedding, and how she and her husband had received no visitors for a fortnight after the wedding. _To recover from her injuries._ Gruoch imagined herself being stabbed through the heart by Macbeth's dagger, and wondered how any woman might survive the ordeal to come.

The walk the great hall seemed like a march to the gallows, and it was all too brief. Gruoch's father, Boite, took her by the arm and led her into the room where the gathered nobles were awaiting a wedding. Pipes were played, but Gruoch could barely hear them over the pounding in her head. She was brought before a priest and Macbeth, her lord. Her new husband was dressed in a red coat that matched her dress, clearly cut from the same cloth. His expression was stern and appraising, and Gruoch realized that he was taller than she had thought earlier. She had to tilt her head upwards to look into those dark eyes. He was a slighter man than most warriors, but there was clearly power in the way he carried himself, and the broad sword at his side served as a reminder that this man spent most of his life cutting down soldiers on the battlefield. The pipes stopped, and Gruoch had to force herself to stay where she was. She would not dishonour her father by making him hold her there at the altar. Boite had made it clear that Gruoch would marry Macbeth today, with or without her cooperation. Macbeth's land and titles were second only to the king in Scotland, and Boite knew he would never make a better alliance than this with the thane of Glamis.

Macbeth held out his hand, browned by the sun, to the girl was about to marry. Gruoch grasped it, and held on tight, as though she would drift away from the crowd and out the window if she let go. They exchanged words between them when the priest told them to, but these words of fidelity and prosperity were the first that they had exchanged.

Gruoch's heart beat furiously against her chest as Macbeth leaned his face towards hers. His lips moved over hers in their first kiss as man and wife. She felt the strange dampness of his inner lip brushing against hers, and registered that her front teeth were resting against his lower lip. It was a brief kiss, and Gruoch felt lightheaded when it ended. It hadn't been as unpleasant as she imagined it might be to put her mouth against another mouth, and she was giddy with relief that this much was done.

Macbeth led her to the great table to feast with a hand against the small of her back. Gruoch walked as though she was in a dream, for none of the festivities seemed real. Many guests offered their blessings and congratulations as they approached the table where she and her husband were seated next to the king. Most of these people were strangers. She knew the faces of the king and his two sons. The older son, Malcolm, looked drawn and thin, as though he was recovering from illness. Donalbain, the younger son, was laughing boorishly, already a few mugs of ale into the feast. Across the room was Catriona, next to Macduff. Her cousin seemed happy, but Catriona had always been content with her lot in life. The thane of Fife was certainly much larger than his little wife, but his gentleness with her professed a kind of love. Arranged marriages often led to affectionate relationships, but Gruoch couldn't imagine ever trusting Macbeth enough to love him.

Most of the guests were friends of Macbeth, and Gruoch spotted a man with a small child beside him among the tables. In a moment of unexpected compliance, Gruoch leaned over to her husband, and asked, "Who is that man in the grey cloak? I know the crest he wears, but not his face."

Macbeth was taken aback that his wife had spoken to him, but seemed pleased that she had initiated this much.

"That is Banquo, a thane in the service of King Duncan. His father was killed in a conflict with Norway not three months ago. He is a friend."

"And the child with him? Where is his mother?"

"Banquo's wife died bringing that boy into the world. His name is Fleance, and his father will not remarry out of love for his dead wife."

Gruoch felt chilled by Macbeth's words. He was so nonchalant about the death of his friend's wife, and spoke with derision about his refusal to remarry. Clearly Macbeth was a man who found wives disposable. She resolved to never let him see a drop of weakness in her. If he was unfeeling, she would be too.

After hours of merriment, it was Donalbain who moved the evening to its conclusion. In his intoxicated state, he seemed to think that bawdy jokes were exactly what the evening required. He stood on unsteady feet, and raised his glass.

"I would like to thank our thane of Glamis for inviting us into his home, and here's hoping his lady will also be welcoming him in tonight."

There was a smattering of laughter from the drunk wedding guests, so Donalbain continued.

"May his sword always be ready for battle, and his will strong against the maiden enemy. I drink to easy conquest!"

Gruoch felt sick listening to the speech. Here was another who spoke of battle in the bedchamber, and it elevated her fear. Pain was one thing. She knew of pain, but she was horrified to think that Macbeth would make himself her master with this act. She might be forced to yield her body to whatever conquest was waiting, but her soul was her own.

Donalbain was showing no signs of completing his performance, but Duncan rose and gestured to his son to sit. The king then addressed the assembled guests.

"Sons, kinsmen, thanes, and those of you whose places are the nearest. Many blessings upon the marriage of my worthy cousin, Macbeth. Great happiness to you both on your union. May you be blessed with many children."

The guests applauded. After the king spoke, it was customary that the guests could now depart at their leisure. Most would remain, however, taking advantage of the food and drink offered by their host. It was at this point that Macbeth took his wife by the arm, and led her away to an adjoining staircase. Gruoch was out of view of the hall before she realized what she was being led to. She had gone with this man like a lamb to the slaughter. There were cheers and whistles behind them, as the guests had realized that the newly married couple had gone to complete the marriage.

Gruoch held her head high and her expression blank in defiance of what was to come. With his hand on her back, Macbeth brought her to a heavy wooden door, and led her inside the chamber. Candles had been lit along the walls, bathing the bedchamber in a warm glow. Servants had also left a basin of warm water and goblets of wine on a long table near the windows. The bed itself was draped in red cloth, and dark wooden posts rose above it, allowed a crimson canopy and curtains to frame the bed. The floor was the same cold stone as the rest of the castle, with the exception of an animal skin that lay on the floor by the bed. Macbeth closed the door behind them, and Gruoch hoped that the violence of bedding killed her.

Macbeth did not so much as glance at his wife as he walked towards the bed. He pulled at the buttons of his coat and flung it away. He began pulling at the cords on his linen shirt when he turned around and found that his wife had screwed her eyes shut. He walked to her, and gently caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. Gruoch's eyes darted open, and she saw the expanse of her husband's chest bared before her. She saw the impressive definition of his muscles, and the hair that grew across that broad chest. Like his beard, it was interspersed with grey, but the vitally of this body showed that he was far from the weakness of old age. Like his hands, the skin of his chest was browned too. He was a man used to working under the sun. Gruoch felt delicate and pale in comparison. Boite had forbidden her from spending long periods of time outside, lest she look like a farmer's daughter.

Gruoch had closed eyes in preparation. She pictured happy times at home, riding her horse, losing herself in her lessons, and embraces from Flora while she waited for her husband to bring her pain. It did not come. Instead, he had gently stroked her face. Looking away from his chest she met his gaze, and found unexpected kindness in his expression.

"Have you had a lover before, my lady?"

Gruoch scoffed, hoping to hide her nerves. "My father couldn't have married me off if I had."

Macbeth's eyes sparkled with amusement. "True, but have you been touched anywhere by a man? Kissed?"

Gruoch shook her head. "I never met a man who caught my interest."

Macbeth seemed to take this as a challenge, and moved closer to her, so she was forced to back up against a wall. Against the wall, he continued to advance, so that he crowded her space. He dominated the air, too. Every breath in carried the scent of this man who was all around her. He placed his hands against the wall, and Gruoch was trapped everywhere by his body.

"I have not had a woman in some time, my lady, and I have been looking forward to this. I have never taken a wife before now, but Duncan insisted that it was time for me to produce heirs to secure my legacy. I don't know how to be a husband, but I know this. I want to know you with my hands," he said, as he slid the palms of his hands down Gruoch's arms and onto her waist.

"I want to know you with my mouth," and he brought his face down to the crook of her neck to kiss her there.

"I want to know you with my cock," he purred. With that he ground his hips against her, and even through the layers of her dress, Gruoch could feel something hard pressing against his trousers. He really did have a sword between his legs, and it was going to hurt her, and she didn't know how or where, and it was going to get her with child. She flinched away, and turned her head toward the door. Her body tensed, ready to fight this man who would hurt her so deeply.

Again, there was no pain. In fact, Gruoch felt the heat of her husband's body move away from her. He looked concerned and displeased.

"Will you not yield to me as your husband?"

Gruoch couldn't answer. Her voice and strength were gone from her body, and all she could do was sink to the floor in a heap.

Realization dawned on Macbeth's face. "You're afraid of me."

Gruoch looked away from him, and stared blankly at the door. She would defy this life that had been forced upon her any way she could. Macbeth walked away and sat on the bed, and although he was in his own bedchamber, he seemed lost.

"You're a maiden. I have never had a maiden before, but I have heard that maids are fearful of the act. Tell me, lady, is it me you fear, or would you fear the consummation with any man?"

Gruoch couldn't look at him. Without a word from her, he had found a question that would destroy her if she answered. _He already knows you're afraid._

"Both," she answered. Her voice was small as is reverberated across the stone room. "I am afraid because my life is not my own. I am afraid that I will displease you and you'll hate me. And I am afraid because you're going to hurt me."

"I will not hurt you," he replied.

Gruoch grew angry. He was trying to pacify her with lies. "You say you have known a woman before, but you do not think you will bring me pain? You are a liar or a fool. My cousin told me what husbands do to their wives in the marriage bed. You have a sword, and I will bleed."

Macbeth laughed, and a hearty and relieved sound echoed through the chamber. "My lady," he said, "I have not brought you here to kill you in my bed. There is pleasure to be found for wives as well as their husbands."

Gruoch looked unconvinced, and Macbeth's tone became serious.

"You are young, wife, and have been kept from the world. Have you seen a man's body?"

Gruoch shook her head, afraid that if she spoke again she would cry or scream at the indignity of what was happening. He thought her to be weak and a fool.

Macbeth stood, and pulled at the laces on his trousers until he exposed himself. Gruoch looked, and saw that there was no sharpened blade, but only flesh. It certainly looked large, but it was rounded at the tip, and the deep colour showed that it was mortal blood running though this weapon.

"What is it called?" Gruoch ventured.

"Cock. It's a cock. Or prick if you prefer. There are quite a lot of names."

"And where…" Guroch trailed off.

"Let me show you where I will go. Come here."

Gruoch rose from the floor and accepted her husband's offered hand. He saw her staring at him, and he returned his hardened length to his trousers.

"Turn, my lady."

Gruoch turned and felt Macbeth undoing the ties at the back of her gown. When he has loosened it, she let it fall to the floor around her, leaving her dressed only in a thin, white shift. She shivered, although she was not cold. Macbeth brought his hand to the small of her back once again, led her to the bed, and motioned for her to lie on the blankets.

Macbeth sat on the bed, and ran his hand along her exposed lower leg. "On a cold night you might be glad to join under the warmth of the blankets, but I want you to see everything that will happen tonight so that you will not fear our bed."

Gruoch nodded, willing to allow a tentative truce if it would allow her to get through this quickly. The anticipation was making her guts roll. She felt an impulse to touch this man, but she still feared what it would mean.

Macbeth positioned himself so that he knelt above her, and brought his hand upwards along her leg, moving underneath the shift. Gruoch struggled to catch her breath. His hand felt like it was burned a trail up her thigh. She wanted him to continue touching her, but the burn was also one of fear. He moved his broad hand up to the most secret part of her body, and with a single finger, caressed the folds between her thighs.

"Here," he whispered.

Gruoch bolted upright. "There? How is that… how are you supposed to fit inside me?"

Macbeth moved his hand away from the meeting of her thighs, and gentled her with a kiss on her forehead. He pulled the frightened girl toward him, and held Gruoch in his arms. It was the same comfort Flora had offered her as a small child, when she was frightened of the wars that called her father away for months at a time, or the thunder that growled from the sky.

"In truth, I do think you will feel some pain tonight. Many maidens feel pain at their first bedding. The women I have known were not burdened with maidenheads, and truly, they found pleasure. This first night is the only obstacle. I do not know how much pain you will feel. Even if I had bedded a thousand maids before this night I would not know. I am no woman. But I swear to you, I will be as gentle as a husband can be with his new wife."

Gruoch considered his words, and breathed deeply. "From what little I have heard from married women, it seemed that their husbands were beasts. I asked my serving woman once, as she said that couldn't walk when her husband was done with her on their first night. You have not been cruel to me yet. If being your wife is to be my lot in life, then I will trust you for now, against all my reason, to be as gentle as you can."

Macbeth smiled, and brought her in for a kiss. It was sweet, like he was making an unbreakable promise to her. His lips barely ghosted over hers for many more kisses, and his hands ran down her back. He pulled her forward so that she was sitting in his lap, with her legs wrapped around his hips. It made them the same height, which made Gruoch feel like she had some power here. She could feel her husband's cock pressing up against her, but this time she was prepared to face whatever came. With both hands on her face, Macbeth brought her forward for a deep kiss. Unlike all previous kisses, this was something animal. His tongue pushed forward into her mouth, until all she could taste was her husband. She brought her own hands to his face, and let out a sigh of tentative pleasure. This seemed to encourage her husband, who continued to frantically kiss her as though she was the very air he breathed. His hands moved lower, until he had a tight grasp on her hips.

Gruoch felt like she was being tumbled through the sea. Her husband was everywhere. All she could taste and smell and see was him. She decided that if she was to be bedded, she would claim him as she was being claimed. Gruoch brought her hands to her husband's exposed chest, and marvelled as the strength his body contained. He was pleased by her exploration, parted his mouth from hers to pull the linen shirt from his body, so that she had more of him to see.

Macbeth began to pull at the hem of his wife's shift. Feeling bold, she allowed him to lift it over her head, leaving her entirely exposed to his eyes and hands. He immediately brought his head to her white breasts, kissing them and worrying her hardening nipples with his fingers. It was terrifying and exhilarating, like flying.

While he began to kiss down her neck, Gruoch ran her hands over his back. She felt a puckered wound from an old conflict, and she was aware of this man's strength in a way she had never encountered before. Her own body was soft where his seemed to bulge out under the skin, and she found that his restrained strength added to hers. Here was a man capable of taking what he wanted from her, but he would not. This powerful body belonged to her. She was queen over this warrior in her bed. He was making desperate noises as he rubbed his body against hers, feeling the fullness of her breasts, and she brought her hand up to cradle his head. His eyes were glazed, and his expression made him look like a starving man presented with a roast goose.

He pulled himself away, and looked deeply into her eyes. She could see herself reflected there, white against the dark. He gently laid her down on the bed, titling her backwards, and moved his body over hers. He left his trousers on while he moved his hands downwards. He didn't want to ruin her pleasure by reminding her of her fear.

Gruoch could not help but consider her position. She was so much shorter, younger, and weaker than her husband, but she could see that he was not the expressionless soldier he had been earlier. There was genuine concern in his eyes, even if it was only to avoid breaking his new toy before he had finished playing. This man had some regard for her, and that inch of respect might be enough to salvage some kind of partnership out of this marriage.

Her husband's hands returned again to the meeting of her legs, and a single digit stroked her entrance. Gruoch drew a sharp breath, but when his finger began to massage her folds, she felt a molten heat pool low in her belly in anticipation of the glorious unknown. When that finger drew across something that sent ripples of pleasure through her, Gruoch held her legs closed, overwhelmed by a bliss so strong that she felt her heart leap into her throat. Her reaction drew a pleased smirk from Macbeth, who began to push a single digit somewhere inside of his young wife.

Gruoch froze, feeling full in a way she did not recognise. Looking between their bodies, it seemed that Macbeth had only pressed himself in to the second knuckle. It was then that Gruoch realised she felt damp. Terrified that she had wet herself without noticing, she tried to stammer out an apology. Macbeth quieted her with a deep kiss.

"My lady, it simply means that your body is prepared to accept mine," he murmured against her lips. "But you are so tight around a mere finger. My cock is longer and thicker, and I will need you to adjust further before I risk joining with you. Will you relax for me?"

Gruoch nodded. "If this must be done, I would rather it were done quickly."

Macbeth nodded his agreement with her request, and continued the movement of his fingers. All this while he used his legs to keep hers spread, so that she was held open to his exploration. Gruoch felt small, like she was a morsel to be consumed. The fullness of a single finger entered her, and a small noise of discomfort escaped her lips. Macbeth resumed gently kissing his wife, trying to reassure her of his care. He drew his finger in and out of her body. The sensation was strange, but not entirely unpleasant. Gruoch began to adjust to the sensation, and found that she was making tiny movements with her hips in time with Macbeth's stroking. When he returned with two fingers, something between a gasp and a scream tore out of her, but it was no scream of pain. This was pleasure that she did not know existed. Pleasure beyond a bite of hot apple cake, beyond the kiss of autumn wind against her cheek, surely pleasure so divine that it was a sin.

Returning to herself and the candlelit room, Gruoch met the gaze of her lord. His expression had turned dark with triumph and hunger. He leaned away from her to pull his trousers down and off his legs. The lines of his body along his hips pointed towards the core of him, where his cock was so flushed with blood it looked purple and angry at the tip. He was hard and massive, bigger than two fingers, and Gruoch began to doubt her courage.

"Husband," she began, "I do not know what to do."

"My lady," he replied, maintaining a formality that was laughable in their position, "I ask only that you allow me to do my best by you, and that you will tell me if I hurt you beyond what you can withstand."

With that he dropped his body low over hers, and grasped the base of his cock to guide himself in. He made eye contact with her at this last moment, silently begging her permission.

Gruoch knew that had no real choice in the matter, and lying there, smothered by the body of a man ready to pierce her, she simmered in anger and fear. She was not a fragile, delicate bird whose wings might snap in a strong wind, and with a single movement of her husband's hips, she would cease to be a child. She was descended from a line of kings. The blood that made a man king only made a woman an advantageous marriage partner, but she was still of that line. She would make herself equal to any man. She would take what was hers without hesitation.

"Screw your courage to the sticking place, and do not hesitate," she whispered. The words had been for her, but Macbeth took them as a command. With a hard thrust of his hips he seated himself inside his wife. There was a pinching pain as he tore through her maidenhead, and the stretch was nearly unbearable. The heat and size of his hardness filled Gruoch until she was sure she could feel him in her throat. Stilling his hips, and with sweat dripping from his brow, Macbeth held himself over his wife, waiting for her to adjust. Tears began to spring from Gruoch's eyes. This was not the role she had wanted to play, but it was the one she had been born into. Now she was run through with a hard length of flesh, and the stretch combined with the burn of her fear was enough to make her feel slightly ill.

Macbeth's breath staggered out, as though he was in pain. One hand came to Gruoch's face, shaking as it tried to give comfort. "What's done is done," Macbeth whispered. Receiving no objections from Gruoch, he began to pull his hips back, and thrust shallowly into her again. The thrusting was measured and slow, and while it was uncomfortable, it caused Gruoch no great pain. As Macbeth continued, she began to feel pleasure within the discomfort. Suddenly, one thrust made her gasp in pleasure as her husband's cock struck something inside of her. She wrapped her arms around her husband's neck, and pulled him down so that his face was her neck and shoulder. The position allowed her to gasp out noise to the vastness of the room with each thrust.

Macbeth seemed as lost to pleasure as she felt. Emboldened by his wife's participation in the act, he increased the power and speed of his thrusts until each movement moved them up the bed. Gruoch could barely contain something within herself. She allowed her head to drop back against a pillow, exposing the curve of her throat. Macbeth was like a wild stallion between her legs. She had feared the intensity of a rutting man this morning, but now she revelled in the feelings it brought her. It was too much, yet not enough. Gruoch was shaking like a leaf against her husband, feeling each pounding motion within her like it was reverberating into every corner of her body. Without understanding, she felt a wave a pleasure wash over her, and her body tightened around the length of her husband.

Macbeth let out a sound that could have been a moan of pain when he felt the tightening embrace of his wife's walls. Macbeth dropped low and took his rights from her, pounding away erratically with abandon. The sensation was too much for Gruoch, who felt over stimulated from the unrelenting impact of a cock into the spot that brought her so much pleasure. She began to cry, and she could not tell if it was from pleasure or pain.

Macbeth thrust into her in a way that was almost brutal, until finally his hips stilled and he spilt inside her with a groan. He pulled himself away from his wife, which exposed the sweat that had moulded their bodies together to the cool night air. He ran a hand through the curls of his wife's hair, and promptly fell asleep.

Naked and awake on top of the blankets, Gruoch was left with a dull ache between her legs. It was the kind of pain that would surely hurt more the next morning. Gruoch felt strange, knowing she had completed this trial of womanhood. She had been thoroughly bedded by her husband, and the faint scent of blood lingering in the air told her she had bled from it. She might have allowed him this much of her body, but sleeping next to him seemed unfathomably vulnerable. Gruoch rose from the bed and padded over to the rug. The feel of the fur suggested it was bearskin. Gruoch carried the heavy skin over to a low settee in a corner of the room, and huddled herself under it. Her husband's breathing was slow and even as he slumbered. It would take time, but Gruoch knew she could make him into an ally. He had listened to her and waited for her permission, which was better than she had received from most men. She needed him to enter the world of men, but this man who had refused to marry for many years seemed to need her. There would be time. There would be years before them. If Gruoch had to be a woman, and had to be married, better that is should be this man who might willingly become her partner in greatness.


	2. Chapter 2

Gruoch woke to the grey dawn of Inverness. She was further north than her father's castle, and it seemed that winter had already begun to creep into the air here. In the night she had turned herself to face a small window that was now obscured by frost. In the cold light of the morning, Gruoch became anxiously aware of her nakedness under the bearskin that served as her blanket. She remembered the night before, and became aware of the way she ached so deep inside of herself. Mortified and uncertain, she turned herself back towards the bed where she had left Macbeth to sleep. The man was awake. Not only was he awake, but he was dressed and sitting on the edge of the bed, watching his wife.

Gruoch could not meet his eyes. She did not know how to behave in this private moment with her husband. She had half hoped that he would be gone when she awoke, so she could have a moment of privacy to grapple with her feelings. Macbeth would not give her this luxury. He seemed troubled, and seeing her open eyes, he said, "Tell me, wife, were you mistakenly informed that it is customary for a woman to leave the marriage bed to sleep under a rug? Or do you merely wish to insult me?"

Gruoch was angered by the question. She had woken up in a strange land, having been wedded and bedded to a man more than twice her age, a man she did not choose, a man who had only hours before seemed to treat her with some care, and now she was being chastised for seeking a moment alone. Boite had done an abysmal job of preparing his only daughter for marriage. Seemingly from birth, she had been told never to allow a man to touch her. No one had told her why, only that it was absolutely forbidden. When she had begun a bleeding cycle, she had not been allowed unsupervised outside of her own chambers. Now she was expected to change a lifetime of instruction in a single evening. She had never been so much as kissed, and consummating the marriage took every ounce of bravery she could muster. She had not had the strength to fall asleep beside her husband. She could have told the man as much, but she lay silent and defiant on the settee, and pulled the bearskin up so that she was covered to her chin.

Macbeth did not take kindly to this, and rose to head towards the door. He turned for a moment, and Gruoch wondered if he might yell at her for defying him. Instead, he merely said, "Your serving woman will attend you, should you require anything. I have my own affairs to tend to. I will return for the evening meal." With that perfunctory statement, he left. Gruoch was alone. She wiggled out from underneath the bearskin and pulled on her shift, which had fallen to the floor beside the bed. She considered attempt to dress herself in her wedding gown, when the door opened to reveal a girl of about 14, carrying an armful of clothes. The girl quietly set the bundle on the bed, which appeared to be a thick, green dress. She did not meet Gruoch's eyes or speak a word to her, so Gruoch ventured to speak to her.

"Are you to be my serving woman?"

"Yes, my lady," the girl responded.

"And what is your name?"

"Ena, my lady."

The girl did not seem particularly forthcoming with her answers, but she seemed just as frightened as Gruoch felt, so she tried again to engage her.

"Please, do not guard your words for me. I know no one in this castle, and I would not deny the chance for a friend."

The girl looked absolutely astonished to have been spoken to in this way, and stumbled out, "Thanks the heavens, my lady. I did not know I was supposed to serve you without speaking to you, but my mother, Dolina, insisted it was the proper way. She was chambermaid to the Queen until her majesty's death. Now she runs the kitchens for your husband, the Thane of Glamis. She insisted I be the one to serve you because she's getting awfully anxious about me now that I'm nearly old enough to marry, and she thinks that if I learn to be more respectful I might make a better match."

Gruoch laughed to have stumbled across such a pleasant, earnest person in this unfamiliar castle. "Will you help me dress, Ena?," she asked, "And do you know if my cousin, the lady of Macduff, is still in residence? I would very much like to see her today if I could."

Ena excitedly replied, "You mean the lady who's so big with child that she looks ready to fall over in a strong breeze?"

Gruoch laughed again, a laugh that she needed to purge some of the tension that she had held onto for weeks. She confirmed her cousin's identity, and Ena quickly helped her into her dress. Ena led her to a sitting room, and told her to wait while she fetched Gruoch's cousin. Gruoch could not supress her delight at seeing Catriona walk towards her. She rose quickly and hugged her cousin tight, breathing in the familiar smell of her hair. This familiar friend was such a powerful link to the carefree girls that had both been not so long ago, and Gruoch began to weep. She wept like her heart had been melted like candle wax and was now pouring out of her. Catriona hugged back fiercely, angling so that her bulging stomach would not be in the way, and scratched her nails down her cousin's back in a comforting gesture. When Gruoch pulled away, she saw concern on her cousin's face. Catriona said, "My dear cousin, I was astonished to hear you wanted to see me. The fortnight following a wedding is to be time for man and wife to be together and learn each other's ways. I did not expect that Macbeth would not be with you. Do something terrible happen?"

Gruoch had no idea that she had been meant to take time alone with Macbeth. No one had offered her the slightest amount of practical knowledge to be a married woman. She replied, "I do not think my husband desires to be together for that time. He left this morning after I woke and said he would return in the evening. I know I angered him by not sleeping in his bed."

"So he did not take his rights?," inquired Catriona.

"What? No, he… we… The marriage has been consummated. I just slept on a settee afterwards. He fell asleep so soon after he… after… it was done, that I didn't know what to do. I couldn't relax there next to a naked man."

Catriona seemed relieved that all had apparently gone as expected, and replied, "I am quite certain that your lord wanted you to be alone with him for the remained of these two weeks. My own husband saw him this morning, and said he seemed frustrated, not like a man does after marrying a beautiful young woman. That's why I thought he had not known you, or worse, that he had held you down and forced you."

They talked for hours, and Catriona comforted and advised Gruoch. It had taken some convincing, but Gruoch was now determined to speak frankly with her husband. Their relationship could not profit from silence and misunderstanding. Even if Macbeth did think her to be a weak and silly girl, that was better than one who was openly disrespecting him.

When evening came, and Ena had laid a small table with dinner, Macbeth returned to the chambers he shared with his wife. In the warm glow of candlelight, Gruoch could see the lines that crossed his face. Some were from age, some were scars of battle, and she let her eyes meet the deep darkness of his. "My lord husband," she began, "I did not intend to dishonour you by refusing to sleep in your bed. You may think whatever you like of me, but I did it out of my own ignorance rather than to tarnish our union. I have no doubt that last night you saw how my face was blanched with fear, and I must tell you that I understood none of what happened between us. I spoke with my cousin, and she deeply regrets not telling me sooner and more thoroughly. Other than my father, you are the first man to so much as touch my face. I was terrified, and as foolish as it seems I am still terrified. I do not know how I can face … our bodily union again when all I know of you is a single rough night of blinding intensity. I cannot even begin to understand my own feelings, never mind yours. I am truly sorry."

When Gruoch had finished, Macbeth frowned, and she worried that she might have displeased him again. When he spoke, however, she dismissed the notion entirely. "I told you last night, wife, that I have never married or known a maid before you. I must admit I confided in Macduff, and he chided me for how I treated you. He said his own wife was so afraid on her wedding night that they could not consummate the marriage until three days had passed. Her body simply would not open to him. I was a fool to introduce you to the act so quickly. I ignored your fear because I wanted your body and would not deny myself. I had quite a lot of ale, and was not concerned with anything beyond what my rights as husband would allow. You have nothing to apologize for."

Macbeth walked over to his wife, and stroked his hand down her face. "I may have a solution to your fear when we must join again," he said. "Last night you pulled my head to the crook of you neck, and I took it for passion. I wonder now if you could not bear to look upon my face. There are other ways that a man and his wife can make love, and I need not be above you. If you a ready during these next weeks, I beg of you to allow me to try to please you. If you are not, I will still spend this time with you in the hope that you might not fear me."

Gruoch did not know what to make of he husband's proposition. That he would treat her as an equal was beyond hope. He did not have to beg her for anything. A man was master of his wife, and if he so chose he could require Gruoch to spend every waking moment speared on his cock, regardless of how she might feel. He might be older, taller, stronger, and more powerful than her, but he had no better understanding of marriage than she did.

Gruoch gazed upwards into his eyes and simply said, "Yes."

"Thank you for offering me a second chance. Now please, my lady, will you dine with me before we retire?" Macbeth walked to the table expectantly. Gruoch shook her head. Macbeth's ire seemed to flair again, and he responded, "If we are to come to an understanding, how do you expect to do so if you will not share a meal with me?"

Gruoch did not acknowledge him until she had reached the end of the bed and sat upon it. "You misunderstand, my lord. It is not dinner I wish to agree to. I want you to take me again."

Macbeth looked at her as though her hair had just caught fire. "My lady, you cannot mean that. I frightened you, and I have no doubt that you will be too sore to accommodate me so soon."

Gruoch did not know what spirit has possessed her to ask for this, but she persisted. She walked to Macbeth, and saw that he wore a linen shirt nearly identical to the one he had worn the night before. She brought her hands to the broad plane of his chest and untied the front of the shirt. "The fear and shame I felt last night were beyond what I could fathom." Macbeth looked guilty at her words, but did not stop her. "But equal to my fear and shame were my pleasure and my power, beyond what I knew existed, beyond what I thought I could have. Perhaps it will hurt and I will tell you to stop, and perhaps I will hate these new methods you propose, but all I know for certain is that if I don't try again tonight, I may not be able to bring myself to try ever again."

Macbeth could see that his wife was in earnest, and so he acquiesced. "If I try this with you tonight, you must tell me if your pain is too great. You may no longer be a maid, but this is a new experience for you, and I will not have you hurt by my hand."

"It is not your hand that concerns me," said Gruoch. Her eyes widened as she realized what she had said, but her husband laughed and led her to their bed. Macbeth said, "What I have in mind is that you might lean forward across the bed, and I will be behind you. You would not see my face, and you would not be entirely bare before me to accomplish this." Macbeth turned Gruoch so that she was facing away from him, and he wrapped his arms around. "I need only lift the hem of your skirt." Macbeth began to kiss down the sides of her neck, and Gruoch felt the same dampness that she had experienced the night before. Macbeth pulled Gruoch's gown up her body so that his hands could caress the tops of her thighs. She felt a warm hand on the small of her back leaning her forward towards the bed, and she let the top of her body fall across it. Behind her, her husband pushed the fabric of her dress forward so that he had access to what interested him. Gruoch felt the cool of the night air against her skin, particularly where she was wet. Macbeth stroked a single finger across her entrance, and she shivered with anticipation. The single finger began to knead at her folds, and Gruoch shifted her hips to get away, to get closer, to submit, to conquer. Her hands darted forward to grab the blankets on the bed, and she held on as though they were all that kept her tethered to earth. Macbeth's single finger began to push into her, and she gasped. The sensation was far more intense than it had been the previous night. She felt bizarrely full, but this time the lingering soreness made it feel as though every nerve ending within her was alive and buzzing. When Macbeth began to push and pull the finger back and forth within her, she now recognized the feeling as a precursor to what his far more intimate flesh would do to her. Gruoch shivered and gasped at the feeling, revelling in the sensation. When Macbeth returned with a second finger, the soreness was far more pronounced. The pain teetered on the knife-edge of too much. When large hands cupped her buttocks and kneaded the soft flesh, Gruoch knew what came next. She felt the warm tip of her husband's cock resting just inside her entrance, and with a single kiss to the back of her neck, Macbeth thrust inside. Gruoch's senses seemed to blaze with such intensity that she was beyond feeling. When she felt again, she felt pain, and registered that she had cried out. She also noticed that Macbeth was no longer inside of her.

"That was too much," he said. "I cannot allow you to hurt yourself using my body." Gruoch felt pain, yes, but it had been addictive pain, like scratching an itch with such intensity that all that remained was stinging. She tried to beg her husband to try again, but he refused. "I cannot trust myself when I cannot see your face. I would not be able to distinguish the difference between your cries."

"Then you shall see my face," Gruoch insisted. She lay back again so that only half of her body was on the bed, but this time she could gaze upwards at her husband. Boldly, she wrapped a leg around Macbeth's waist to pull him in. He had only exposed himself enough to have his cock out, and his sweat made his shirt cling to him. Gruoch had the unfathomable urge to lick that sweat from his chest. Instead, she settled for holding him between her legs. He groaned, and pushed back into her. His hands held onto her hips to give him leverage, but this time Gruoch was able to pull him into her as well. The repeated thrusting hurt, but it hurt less than leaving behind the only world she had ever known to be this man's wife. Each time that hard, hot length of flesh stroked inside of her, Gruoch could feel all of her sadness and uncertainty being pushed away. There was only the rhythm of the cock that claimed her body, and a primal, animal need that broke her, that made her whole. She did not fall apart in pleasure the way she had the night before, but she felt so full, so satisfied. When Macbeth spilt inside of her, she was aware enough to revel in the sensation of hot liquid filling her. Catriona had explained that this liquid is what made children, but Gruoch could not imagine something as pure as a human soul coming from an act that was so deliciously, deliriously filthy. Macbeth collapsed on top of his wife, and breathed heavily. It was only when he brought his lips to kiss her that Gruoch realized that they had not kissed throughout their lovemaking. Macbeth's eyes were hooded with sleep, and he allowed his softened cock to slide out. He pulled Gruoch up, kissed her soundly, and removed her dress, leaving her in her shift. Then he removed his trousers, so that the only thing clothing him was his opened linen shirt. Without a word, he pulled back the blankets on the bed, and pulled Gruoch into the bed with him. He fell asleep nearly immediately, and Gruoch allowed herself to sleep deeply resting in his arms.


End file.
